


Always do sober what you said you'd do drunk

by DivineSquishy



Category: Fire Emblem: Fuukasetsugetsu | Fire Emblem: Three Houses
Genre: Angst, Drunk Sex, Dubious Consent due to Alcohol, M/M, no beta we die like Glenn
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-01-12
Updated: 2020-05-09
Packaged: 2021-02-27 15:22:00
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 3,610
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/22229350
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/DivineSquishy/pseuds/DivineSquishy
Summary: Felix is drunk.If Sylvain were a better person, he’d find him some water, bring him to his room, watch over him until he sobered up some, and then got him to bed.Sylvain has never claimed to be a good person.
Relationships: Felix Hugo Fraldarius/Sylvain Jose Gautier
Comments: 10
Kudos: 230





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> I just wanted to write porn and then those two idiots decided to have feelings about it.
> 
> Could be read as dub con due to Felix being drunk.
> 
> I may or may not write a follow up, but I'm bad at plot and dialogue, so we'll see.

Felix is drunk.

If Sylvain were a better person, he’d find him some water, bring him to his room, watch over him until he sobered up some, and then got him to bed.

Sylvain has never claimed to be a good person.

He sees the flush on Felix’s cheeks and thinks about all the other ways he could bring out that dazed look, how he’d kiss every inch of skin he could reach until that blush reached all the way up to his ears and down his neck.

He sees Felix sway on his feet, stumble slightly. Sylvain swallows, thinks about other reasons Felix would be unsteady on his feet, imagines his lithe form pinned underneath him, fucking him hard until all he can see, hear, think is Sylvain’s name, until he can’t walk the next day.

Sylvain’s mouth feels dry so he takes another sip of wine, gaze still fixated on Felix, the way he slowly makes his way over to him with a single minded determination he’s only ever seen in Felix.

Sylvain _wants_.

Some strands have come undone from Felix’s bun, hair longer now than it was during the war. Felix reaches up to brush them out of his face, a vague look of irritation crossing unfocused eyes. Sylvain imagines freeing the rest of his hair instead, tangling his hand into it and tugging just hard enough for Felix to make noises of pleasure-pain against him as he pulls him into a kiss.

He must have closed his eyes, because when Sylvain looks again Felix is right there in front of him, close enough to feel the heat of his body, to smell the alcohol on his breath.

“I’m drunk,” Felix states with a scowl, as if it was Sylvains fault that dozens of nobles were trying to curry favour with Duke Fraldarius, bringing him drink after drink.

Sylvain takes his arm, makes a show of bowing to the room in general as he leads Felix out, heart beating in his throat.

He can feel Felix stagger against him with a frustrated little noise that shoots straight to his cock. Sylvain exhales sharply, imagines crowding him into one of the dark corners of the palace, hitching his legs up around his waist until he’s only held up by the wall and Sylvain, rubbing against him through their clothes until they both make a mess of themselves, because in Sylvain’s imagination they both want this.

Somewhere in the back of his mind Sylvain is glad for how drunk Felix is or he would have already noticed his arousal, the way his trousers are starting to grow too tight the more he allows his thoughts to wander.

It’s pure self-indulgence, really, when he leads Felix to his own chambers, not the ones set aside for the duke, though he’s not even sure Felix even realizes. 

The level of trust Felix displays towards him is also the only reason he’s kept his hands to himself so far, only whispers Felix’s name to himself under his covers at night, his cock in his hand, pleasure mixed with guilt at countless fantasies of defiling his best friend.

Still, he lowers Felix down onto his sheets, indulges just a little when he tugs the tie out of his hair, lets it spread out over his pillows. Burns the image into his mind.

He’s unlacing Felix’s boots when he speaks again.

“Shouldn’t you bring some pretty maid here instead?”

Sylvain looks up, meets Felix’s eyes for just a moment before his eyes flit away again. It’s enough for him to notice that a little bit of their sharpness has returned, though Felix is still slurring his words.

He hasn’t been interested in palace maids or pretty girls in years now - still brings them to his rooms sometimes because he can admit to himself that he is a bastard and fully willing to take advantage when there is a dark-haired, sharp-tongued woman willing to bed him. He’s honestly surprised no one has called him out on that pattern just yet, but for Felix he just smiles and pulls off his boots, placing them neatly next to his bed.

“I’ve got you here, don’t I?”

His response is perhaps more telling than he intended, the usual teasing tone not quite there.

Felix doesn’t say anything and Sylvain starts to suspect he’s fallen asleep, until he draws a shuddering breath, reaching out to grasp his hand, 

“I love you, you know.”

The words are mumbled and slurred, but they hit Sylvain harder than any Thoron ever had, his hand tightening abruptly around Felix’s, almost waiting for someone to jump out of his closet and call it the joke he fears is being had at his expense.

Instead Felix pulls on his hand with unexpected strength until he’s perched on top of him.

He can still smell the alcohol, feels almost drunk himself, blood rushing in his ears, that short sentence replaying again and again in his head. Felix, spread out underneath him, in his bed. Felix, saying he loves him. Felix, drunk-

His thoughts are cut short when Felix reaches up, pulls him down, Sylvain’s mind going blank when he feels Felix’s lips against his own, slightly chapped but warm, parting for him before Sylvain even realizes he is deepening the kiss.

Felix is kissing him.

He is kissing Felix.

If he wasn’t half-hard before, he certainly is now, the thought that Felix is drunk only barely squeezing itself into his subconscious and he pulls away with a groan.

The flush from before has returned to Felix’s cheeks, only now Sylvain knows he’s the reason for it. His lips are red, slightly puffy, a wet sheen to them where Sylvain had run his tongue over them, and Felix-

Felix makes that small _noise_ again, the one that made him want to push him up against the wall and _take_ him, all thoughts of reason flying out of his head as he surges down, taking Felix’s hands into his own and pressing them down against the pillows, greedy lips swallowing up more of those sounds when he nudges his leg in between Felix’s.

Felix is hard too, Sylvain realizes with a groan.

He wants, needs more, so he lets go of one of Felix’s hands, trails it down along a flushed neck to the collar of his shirt, popping open one button after another, following his movement with his lips, nipping and kissing until he’s sure to leave too many marks to count. Felix’s nipples are hard too, he notices, brushing over them with his thumb before he leans down to tug at the little nub with his teeth, swiping over it with his tongue to soothe right after. Felix twitches up against him with a gasp, his free hand tangling in Sylvain’s hair, legs falling open wider as if inviting him in and it’s all Sylvain can do to not come in his breeches right then and there.

Distantly he wonders if Felix has done this before, a sharp jab of jealousy to his belly at the thought of anyone else seeing Felix like that, unlacing his trousers as he is doing now, baring slim hips to the air, his cock red and leaking against his belly when Sylvain finally frees him of the confines of his underwear.

But what does it matter, he figures, when Felix is his and his alone now.

“Going to make you feel so good,” Sylvain purrs, finally letting go of Felix’s other hand to rummage in his drawers, pulling out a half-used vial of oil.

He takes another moment to just look, to commit the view to his memory - Felix, spread out in his bed, naked and hard and wanting, Felix who _loves him_. The thought is almost too much for him and it takes but a moment for Sylvain to lean down and catch Felix’s lips again, hungry in a way he’d never been with anyone he took to bed before.

Sylvain wants to be good for Felix, wants to take him apart and then put him back together again, wants to draw every small sound, every moan he possibly can from his throat until Felix is too exhausted to do even that, too well spent to ever regret his confession.

He also wants to destroy him, wants to fuck him hard and fast, wants to make him scream and plead for more even as Sylvain bruises his hips with a grip too tight, marks up his neck for the whole world to see, drives tears that haven’t been seen for years to Felix’s eyes.

Sylvain closes his eyes, exhales harshly through his nose. Not tonight. He’ll be sweet for Felix tonight, open and pliant as he’s already being.

He reaches down to circle Felix’s entrance with a dry finger, presses against him just the tiniest bit, watching for the shudder that runs through Felix, his mouth falling open with a quiet moan, bucking up against him.

A part of him wants to keep teasing Felix, wants to take him to the edge and then down again, but Sylvain doesn’t have the patience for that, answering Felix’s moan with one of his own, quickly uncorking his vial of oil to coat his fingers in it, drops of it hitting Felix’s cock and running down it.

Felix makes to take himself in his hand, but Sylvain catches him first, presses his wrist back into the pillow, holding him there until Felix stops fighting against him, relaxes into his grip.

“Nuh-uh,” Sylvain murmurs, brushing his lips against the shell of Felix’s ear, drawing another full-body shudder out of him, “just let me spoil you, princess.”

Any other day that pet name alone would have earned him an elbow to the gut, but as Felix ist now, pupils blown wide, arousal written all over his face, alcohol still dulling his senses it instead elicits a high-pitched whine, information that Sylvain files away for later.

Now, though, he returns to rubbing circles into Felix’s rim, finally pushing in a finger when Felix bucks up against him once more, imagining that tight heat wrapped around him as he does, grabbing his own cock with his free hand, trying to relieve some of the pressure.

Felix can’t be that unused to what he’s doing because he relaxes around him easily, one finger quickly becoming two, the blood rushing in Sylvain’s ears at that thought doing nothing to quench his growing hunger to just bury himself inside of Felix, the soft noises the other is making just fueling his fire, crooking his fingers to rub over that small nub inside of Felix, his cock jumping at the way Felix writhes against him at the sensation.

It feels almost cruel to neglect touching Felix’s cock as it is twitching and leaking against his belly, but a darker part of Sylvain wants to see how long Felix is willing to obey him, how long he can draw out the teasing until Felix finally breaks.

And yet.

Sylvain is too selfish to neglect his own desires, feeling the way Felix has opened up to him. How can he resist, really, when what he’s been longing for so long is finally presented to him, open and vulnerable and taking everything he is willing to give.

He curses under his breath, taking a moment to slick himself up as he pulls his fingers out, only pausing for a moment to press another kiss to Felix’s lips - red and swollen, he must have been biting them, Sylvain notes distantly. 

“So good for me,” he mutters, watching the way Felix’s eyes flutter back open at that, loving how easily Felix opens up for him when he spreads his legs wider, pushes them up towards his chest, finally, _finally_ driving into that waiting heat with a moan in one steady, slow push.

He takes pity on Felix, then, reaching down to take him into his hand, stroking in time with his increasingly erratic thrusts, drawing more and more of those delicious noises out of Felix.

Sylvain doesn’t know how long it takes for either of them to spill, doesn’t even remember if he pulled out in the aftermath of collapsing against Felix’s chest when he finally does tip over the edge.

What he does know is that when he wakes in the morning the other side of his bed is empty and cold.


	2. Chapter 2

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Some closure

When Felix wakes, he hurts.

His head is throbbing with the residue of whatever he drank last night, though when he shifts he feels the _other_ hurt from his waist down, the pain pulsing in tune with the heartbeat against his back, an unfamiliar warmth, one that Felix hasn’t known since long before the war.

He takes a deep breath, closing his eyes as memories from last night come rushing back to him. 

It’s his chest that gives a twinge this time, remembering the way Sylvain had looked at him like he was something precious, like something he wanted to _possess_ and never let go.

The moment of weakness as he’d confessed feeling that had never left his lips since they were both children and had made that stupid promise to each other.

Felix bites back a groan.

He can still feel Sylvain inside him, feel his lips on him, hot and wanting, making him feel as though this was more than what Sylvains shared with those girls he had never stopped bringing to his rooms. 

He can’t stay here.

It’s still dark outside when Felix slips out from under Sylvain’s arm, wincing when he makes a short, disturbed noise and again when he feels the trickle of something wet down his thighs. 

He needs a bath.

Felix is lucky there had been a dance the night before, most of the staff - and certainly the inhabitants - of the castle still in bed at the early hour as he slowly makes his way to the baths, a subtle limp to his gait that he can’t quite hide.

He supposes he should be ashamed.

Sylvain was always easy, always wanted to please _so much_ and certainly he wouldn’t have been able to turn Felix down after a confession like that, so eager to put everything and everyone else before himself. Of course he would do whatever Felix so much as thought of wanting.

The hot water burns when Felix sinks into it and he relishes the pain, the way his skin quickly turns red as he tries to scrub Sylvain’s phantom touches from it.

It’s not working, Felix realizes quickly enough, his cock hardening at the memory of Sylvain’s mouth sucking marks down his chest, a quiet gasp escaping him when his fingers brush over a particularly vicious bruise.

The sound echoes in the room, is returned to him much too loud for his own ears and Felix bites down on the inside of his cheeks hard enough to taste copper.

He won’t allow this. He’s already used his best friend once, he can’t do it again.

Felix is methodical in the rest of his cleanup, almost mechanical in the way he scrubs himself clean, ignoring his half-hard cock until the throbbing has faded to a low burn.

He is good at this, always has been since Glenn--

Self-discipline. He can do it.

And perhaps Sylvain will do him the favor of acting as though nothing happened, as if it had just been a stupid drunk mistake and he hadn’t indulged Felix because he was dumb enough to voice feelings he’d kept bottled up long enough to pretend they didn’t exist.

\--

Sylvain, Felix remembers now, has always been good at pretending. When Felix hides away in his rooms for a full day, shamefully taking himself in his hand more than once to the memory of Sylvain’s velvety tongue on him, he only makes a light-hearted jab at his low tolerance the next time he runs into him on the training grounds. When Felix teases himself open with his own fingers, craving so much more, he throws an arm around his shoulders on the way to breakfast the next morning, whispering conspiratory about that busty blonde maid he intends to get sweet with. 

Felix spills into his sheets with an angry cry that night, ignoring the stinging behind his eyes, trying not to imagine Sylvain holding her down and calling her princess as he fucks into her.

He fails, of course he fails, because he wants to be her, wants that velvety voice to whisper into his ear what he plans to do to him instead of her. But more than that, he wants to wake up in the morning with Syvain’s arms around him again, that warmth pressed up against him, warding off the cold air of Fhirdiad. 

He is particularly vicious when he spars with Ingrid the next day, goading her into giving him more cuts and bruises as though that will make up for the pain he undoubtedly caused Sylvain.

Ingrid’s stare bores into him when she puts away their weapons, leaving him sprawled on the ground, half propped up by the wall at his back and he just knows that she knows.

“Shut up,” he mutters, even though she hadn’t said a word.

She just cocks an eyebrow at him and shakes her head. He barely managed to land a hit on her, he’s so off his usual rhythm.

“You’re both adults. You really need to learn how to talk,” is all she says before she leaves, but Felix feels that blow more keenly than any of the hits of her lance.

\--

Felix doesn’t talk. Felix argues, Felix fights, but he does not talk. 

So, the next time he catches Sylvain alone, he pushes him against the wall, barely meeting any resistance as he does, with a hissed “Fuck you,” as though insulting Sylvain will solve every issue they have.

Sylvain’s eyes are soft when he looks down at him, as though Felix hadn’t used and abused their friendship beyond what should be repairable, as though everything was _fine_ even when Felix is spewing insults at him when it should be the other way around.

“Fuck you,” Felix repeats, quietly this time, not meeting Sylvain’s eyes when he continues, “why won’t you get angry?” It’s not what he intended to say, but the words just leave his mouth anyway. 

He starts when he feels Sylvain’s hand cup his cheek, gently, carefully, still treating him like a precious thing, just like he had that night, and all of a sudden he wants to run, wants to scream, wants to tear at his own skin until none of Sylvain’s kindness is burning into it anymore. Felix does none of those things, instead leans into the hand on his cheek almost on instinct, nuzzling against him.

“I’m sorry, Fe. I shouldn’t have taken advantage of you like that.”

It takes a moment for the words to register in Felix’s mind, but when they do he snarls, pushing Sylvain back against the wall.

“Like hell you--” he starts, only to be cut off almost immediately when Sylvain places a finger over his lips, shushing him. The move doesn’t help the anger rising to his cheeks, a bristling heat that he tries to shove down, as much as he wants to snap at Sylvain.

Somehow Felix manages to bite his tongue, allowing Sylvain to continue. 

“You were drunk and I… I guess I’ve been wanting you for so long that I just stayed in that fantasy of you wanting me back. I get it, you’re angry about it and you probably don’t want to see me anymore--”

This time it’s Felix’s turn to shut up Sylvain, though he doesn’t manage the gentle way the other had, instead slapping his hand over Sylvain’s mouth, using the quiet surprised sound he makes as a moment to gather himself before speaking.

“I told you I love you. I meant that.”

It physically hurts to force the words out after keeping them bottled up inside for so long, but he has to say it, has to make Sylvain believe that he isn’t the villain in all this, that all of his self-flagellation for thinking he took advantage in any way needs to stop. And then there is the matter of, well. Sylvain had said it, hadn’t he? That he’d wanted Felix. Not just because Felix wanted _him_ , but because it was mutual, because maybe all those girls who vaguely looked like him hadn’t been a coincidence after all.

Sylvain makes a _noise_ against his hand and before Felix even realizes what is happening he finds himself spun around, his own back against the wall, hand pulled down by Sylvain’s and--

Oh.

Sylvain’s lips are warm and soft against his, though the kiss is anything but, hard and unyielding, and Felix feels like his very soul is being devoured, though he can hardly complain, not with the way it sends tingles down his spine, sets off sparks in his mind that he hadn’t known he was craving.

He finally breaks away with a gasp when his lungs start to burn and the need for air grows too much, and it’s only then that he notices how tightly he’s pressed up against Sylvain, notices the growing hardness pressed against his hip that mirrors his own.

“Can I…”

Sylvain hesitates, and for once Felix manages some patience, if barely.

“I mean, can we… redo that night?”

Felix makes a _noise_ , surging up to claim Sylvain’s lips in another bruising kiss, drawing a corresponding moan out of him when he shifts deliberately against his erection.

“Take me to your room.”

This time, Felix stays.


End file.
